CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

Zodwa

29 January 1995

New Beginnings Baby Sanctuary, Rustenburg, South Africa

This is the sixth and last place on Zodwa’s list. Leleti was already very near death on the night Zodwa gave birth, and so it’s highly unlikely that she would have caught a taxi to travel for an hour there and back to deliver her grandson to an orphanage so far away. Still, Leleti used to work in Rustenburg and it’s possible that she knew someone at this place.

Zodwa is ushered into the social worker’s office. As she waits for her, she thinks about everything she’s been doing to make Leleti proud and wonders if it’s enough: trying to finish her studies; working a semi-respectable job as a means to an end; having a boyfriend who, despite being a small-time gangster, is at least a man. All that Zodwa has left to do is find her son and bring him home, proving to Leleti through her actions that her mother was wrong and that Zodwa hasn’t wasted her life.

“Zodwa?” A woman is seated across from her saying her name.

“Sorry, sisi. My mind was far away.”

The woman smiles. She has a cherubic face that makes Zodwa think of someone. It takes her a few seconds to realize who she bears a striking resemblance to, and then it comes to her: Desmond Tutu. “I don’t suppose you’re related to—”

“No,” the woman says, laughing, “but I get that a lot. I’m Mrs. Nkosi. How can I help you?”

And so Zodwa begins talking, telling her everything and pulling out the photographs of herself and Dumisa as babies to show her. The woman listens intently, a small frown creasing her brow, and then reaches out for the pictures. Zodwa wonders if she’s imagining the woman’s intensity as she gazes at the photo of Dumisa.

Mrs. Nkosi clears her throat. “The baby disappeared from the Big Hope Informal Settlement in Magaliesburg?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“And that’s where you still live? In a shack?”

Zodwa bristles at the question. “Yes.” She isn’t homeless. Still, she feels the need to explain her situation. “I work at a shebeen there and am saving money to try and move somewhere better. But it’s not easy, I’m still trying to finish high school. The exams and textbooks are expensive.”

The woman nods like she understands and Zodwa feels a bit better until the social worker asks, “What’s your health like?”

“My health?”

“Sorry, it’s an occupational hazard. I noticed you have a cough and just wanted to make sure you’re taking care of it.”

“It’s just a cold,” Zodwa says. “It’s almost gone.”

“Good. Maybe get some Borstol for it.”

“I will.”